


Window

by nanila



Category: Fringe
Genre: Chromatic Character, Female Character of Color, Gen, Post Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-31 07:23:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanila/pseuds/nanila
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walter shows Astrid her alternate self, and she's not sure she likes what she sees.  Written post-Series 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Window

Our Universe

It’s been so quiet in the lab lately that Astrid has finally had a chance to sort out the chemical stores. She sits in the middle of a number of bottles of alcohol, sorted by carbon chain and branching number, humming happily to herself as she puts them into the appropriate Flammables cabinet. She’d found them in various places – the food refrigerator, under the liquid nitrogen dewars, next to the toaster – so she was relieved to be putting them in order.

She’s holding up a tiny bottle of 99.9% n-butanol when Walter dances up to her, a familiar look of naughty schoolboy excitement on his face.

“What is it, Walter?” she asks warily.

“I’ve made the most wonderful discovery, Astro,” he says.

“Astrid,” she corrects wearily.

“Yes, yes, that’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“No,” she replies. “But go on.”

“You remember that window I build to see into the other universe?”

“Yes.”

“And you remember how I broke it?”

“I remember.”

“Well, I fixed it.”

Astrid unravels from the lotus position to stand on her feet, taking care not to disturb the arrangement of bottles. “You did?”

“Yes.” Walter’s eyes are sparkling mischievously. “And this time, it’s even better.”

“How?”

“Well, before I could only see into the part of the universe that shared the same space as the window’s view. Now – _now_ – we can look wherever we want.”

Astrid steps out of the bottle trap and goes to Walter. “Really? How can you be sure you’re not just looking into another part of our world?”

Walter takes her hand. “Let me show you.”

Astrid follows Walter to the window he’s set up on the other side of the lab.

“Look!”

She peers through and starts. She puts a hand to her hair to check that her hair is still in its usual perfectly coiffed bob and that she is not, in fact, wearing a beret.

She can see her other self.

The Parallel Universe

Agent Astrid Farnsworth is at her console. It’s her favourite place in the world to be, and she stands there as soon as she can get there after her 5 AM workout until hunger drives her to dinner in the canteen at 7 PM. At night, she dreams of ratios, perturbations and combinations.

She’s currently running statistics on the probability of the next quarantine event occurring in Boston. She speaks softly to herself. “Currently there are 3 known operatives capable of crossing between universes whose whereabouts are uncertain. One is from New York, one from Chicago, one from Hong Kong but lives in Bangkok. The first is geographically closest, but is also least likely to activate because his marriage is stable and he has broken all links with criminal elements. The last has no personal, financial or political motivation to make a breach in the US. I calculate the second has a 34% chance of making an attempt to cross over in the next six months. And I predict there is a 100% probability of someone watching me right now.”

Our Universe

Astrid jumps back from the window and out of view. Walter laughs and points at the window.

“She can’t see you. Look who she’s talking to.”

Astrid relaxes slowly and steps back in front of the window.

The Parallel Universe

Agent Lincoln Lee lounges behind Agent Farnsworth. She turns to face him, face impassive, posture rigidly upright.

“What are you running today?”

“Something Colonel Broyles asked me to look into,” she replies evasively.

He leans toward her, smiling, turning all the wattage of his famously luminous charm on her. “I was wondering if you might run something for me.”

“Not until I’m finished with this. But tell me what it is and I’ll get to it as soon as I can.” Astrid doesn’t break eye contact with him and she doesn’t smile.

Lincoln frowns slightly. “Agent Farnsworth, can I ask you a personal question?”

“Yes,” she replies. “As long as you don’t expect me to answer it.”

“Are you gay?”

She considers him for about a nanosecond before deciding that there is a 99% probability that Agent Lincoln Lee is not ready for a lecture on the fluidity of gender and sexual identity. “No,” she says promptly.

“Well, what are you then?”

“She’s Agent Astrid Farnsworth,” interjects Agent Phillip Broyles, who has crept up silently behind Lincoln. “And unless you want the next thing on your record to be a harassment charge, that had better be the last time I hear you question her about her sexual preferences. Clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Lincoln makes a move as if to depart. Broyles steps in his way.

“You will now apologise,” says Agent Broyles.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“To Agent Farnsworth,” says Agent Broyles, letting the unspoken _you idiot_ hang in the air afterward.

Lincoln turns to Astrid. “I’m sorry,” he says.

She nods curtly and turns back to her console. Lincoln hovers for a moment before Broyles’ stare becomes too much even for him. He leaves.

“How are you getting on?” Broyles leans over her shoulder. Normally Agent Farnsworth doesn’t like physical contact, or even overly close presences, but Broyles has never bothered her. Perhaps it’s because he’s so closed off, so private. He doesn’t need to project himself all over the place the way most other people seem to need to do. She finds him restful.

“I’m running Option Two,” she says. “I still don’t think he’s that likely, but he’s the only lead we’ve got for the indicators we’ve been seeing.”

“Keep at it,” Broyles says. “I know you’ll find a connection.”

He steps away and the brief warmth of his presence is removed. She doesn’t look up until he’s crossed the office, when she raises her head to consider him briefly and the faintest smile flickers across her face.

Our Universe

Astrid watches this exchange, but she turns away before she sees her alternate self smiling at Broyles’ retreating back.

Walter regards her with that mischievous sparkle.

“What do you think?” he says.

“She’s…remarkable,” Astrid replies. She has an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she suddenly recognizes it as envy.

“Yes,” he says. “If you’d been that focused on mathematics instead of spreading your interests across linguistics and computer science and cooking and goodness knows what else, imagine what you might have accomplished.”

Astrid rolls her eyes. “Walter, you really do have a knack of saying exactly the wrong things to people.”

Walter’s smile disappears. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Astrid sighs. “Oh, never mind.” She walks back to her bottle assortment and returns silently to her task, but the pleasure has gone out of the contemplation of bringing a tiny slice of order to the chaos of the lab.

Walter doesn’t move for some time. Long enough that Astrid forgets about him as she becomes absorbed again. 

She’s surprised to look up and see him standing over her, watching her with gentle puzzlement.

“What is it, Walter?”

“She’s not better than you.”

“Who?”

“Your other self. She isn’t better.”

Astrid slumps. “Yes, she is. She’s clearly more intelligent.”

“Maybe mathematically,” Walter replies. “But you have something as valuable that she lacks.”

“And what is that?”

“Compassion. Empathy. An insight into other people’s minds that isn’t based purely on observable facts and consequences of choices. You can put yourself in their shoes. You know how they feel. She doesn’t, or at least, she’s trained her mind to ignore it as an unquantifiable factor.”

“How does knowing how people feel help if you’re running complex probabilistic trajectories?” Astrid nearly knocks over the 2-heptanol while flinging out her hands.

Walter grabs his hair with his hands. “Astrid! It’s exactly the thing that lets you compute all the probabilistic trajectories instantly and lead you to the correct conclusion. It’s why you and Agent Dunham are so good at your jobs. You have both intelligence and empathy. You must have both or you get blinded to one by the other.”

He drops his arms and bows his head. “As I have been so many times in my life. As my son knows all too well.”

“Walter…”

He looks at her. “I know. I have to stop being so morbid. I have to stop thinking this is all about me.”

Astrid extracts herself from the bottle trap again so she can go to him. She puts her hands tenderly on his shoulders.

“Walter, we will get through this. We will make amends. I will help you and so will Olivia. And so will Peter.”

Walter closes his eyes when she says his name. An expression of pain flickers across his face.

“Walter, look at me.”

He opens his eyes. 

“We will make this happen. I promise,” she says. “Now. You get the sugar and the dark chocolate and I’ll get the flour and the mixing bowl.”

Walter leaps into action. “What are we making?”

“Cake, of course,” she replies.

“Then we need music!” he shouts, capering toward his beloved record player.

Astrid follows him across the lab, smiling. Her eye catches on the window to the other universe. She can see her other self, leaning over with her arms on the console, engrossed. She frowns and hits the power switch.


End file.
